


Not a Date

by that_one_kid



Category: X-Files - Fandom
Genre: Frohike is a chivalrous man, Gen, Mulder is dramatic af, Scully gets drunk, Scully misses Mulder so she gives Skinner hell, Skinner is dad, Why Did I Write This?, silly fluff, what is this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 08:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_one_kid/pseuds/that_one_kid
Summary: Scully, missing Mulder and with a trustworthy babysitter for the night, goes out and gets wasted. Some people can't be trusted, turns out, but Frohike saves the day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Silly fluff based off of a conversation I had yesterday. Trigger warnings at the end

“Scully. That’s it. I already told you that I’m taking William for the weekend.” Skinner barked, taking the file from Scully’s hand. “We will watch baseball and Sesame Street. You, go do something. Get drunk. Get laid. But do not show up in my office on Monday with another conspiracy theory.” 

“Sir-”

“Agent Scully, that’s an order, and that’s final.” Skinner said, and picked up his phone, clearly signaling the end of the conversation. Scully walked out of his office, past the secretary desperately trying to hold back a smile, and wondered for the second time in the last week if she was one of Mulder’s psychics. Probably she’d just been able to hear Scully’s admittedly implausible theory on the latest X-Files case. Scully walked through her office, grabbing her coat, and headed out the doors. She wanted to see Mulder, she realized with a pang, but he was where he was safe. So she went for the second best option, and headed to a local bar.

~ ~ ~

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” The voice came from behind her, and then a tall man slid onto the bar stool next to her. She took her last shot of tequila, setting the empty glass down next to the other empty glasses. 

“No, thanks,” Dana slurred, and waved the bartender back over. “Two more shots.” she said.

“They’re on me,” the man said, waving at the bartender. 

“No,” Dana snapped, glaring at the man. “Thank you. I said I’m good.” He leaned forwards, brushing a hand against her hair. 

“I like your fire,” he said, moving closer. Dana considered decking him, but decided it wasn’t worth the paperwork. 

“Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.” Dana said, and stood up, as the bartender set down another drink with a sympathetic look. She walked somewhat unsteadily towards the ladies room, casting a glance backwards. The man was trying to feel up the bartender, and she pushed him back into his seat roughly. Dana walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face and then smiling faintly at her reflection. 

“I could have taken him,” she said, softly. Then, she hesitated and sighed. “Wasn’t worth it,” she walked out, just in time to see the tall man jump to his feet. 

“What I do is my business!” he shouted, and a smaller man in a leather jacket shoved past him, picking up Scully’s drink and pouring it into the bartender’s sink. 

“I saw you putting powder in her drink,” the smaller man said, his voice low and controlled. Scully reached for her gun, but realized at the last moment she’d left it at home. She glanced around. Most of the bar was backing away from the scene. The bartender was dialing 9-11, glancing at the taller man every few seconds. She needed some cover to complete the call, and the smaller man looked unlikely to win this particular battle. Then she blinked at him, somewhat in a drunken fog. He looked familiar. 

“Well, what business is it of yours?” the man demanded, and Frohike (she recognized him belatedly) landed a solid punch, jerking his head back and sending him reeling into the bar. The bartender jerked backwards, her arm hitting the counter behind her, and started talking rapidly into the phone, giving their location and a description of the man who’d apparently been putting something into her drink. The man shouted something, and lunged towards her. Scully rushed forwards, putting herself between the tall man and the terrified, twenty-year-old girl on the phone with the police. He slammed into her, and Frohike caught at the back of his jacket, yanking the man away and off of Scully, who stumbled and caught herself on the bar. Those last two tequila shots had been a mistake. 

She shook herself back to focus, as the bartender hung up the phone. Melvin was pinned against the wall, taking two punches from the man before he pulled himself free and knocked the man backwards into the counter. He grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it over his head. The man crumpled to the ground, and Frohike slid back into his seat, shooting a glare in the general direction of the man on the floor. Scully came across the bar, stopping for a moment to check on the bartender.

“You okay?” she asked, and the woman ran a shaking hand through her short hair. 

“Fine. The police are on their way.” she said, and poured herself a glass of brandy. “Want some new, not roofied drink?” Scully accepted two beers, and walked over to the booth where Frohike was sitting. She handed him one, and he took it without looking up, opened it, and drank half of the bottle in one swallow. 

“I’m too damn sober for this.” he said, and then glanced up. “Oh, hey Scully. Are you okay?” 

“Me? I’m fine. What about you? You’re the one who just got in a bar fight for my honor.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. It wasn’t personal.” Frohike said. “Not that I’d mind it being a bit personal.” Scully hit him in the back of his head, and he smiled. “Fair enough. I just don’t like his type- you know, abusive dickwads who try to drug women.” Scully laughed out loud, and then continued giggling for a few moments. Frohike gave her a look. 

“What?”

“How many of those have you had?” he asked. 

“This is my first one. That is, my first beer. I was drinking tequila before.” Frohike leaned back and smiled. 

“Finally unwinding a bit, are we?” he asked. “Skinner with the kid?” 

“Yeah. Hey, let me buy you a burger.” Scully said, the alcohol in her veins suddenly expressing itself as generosity. She motioned at the bartender, who’d been following the conversation, and she set about cooking a burger, pausing only to pour a drink for the first person who’d returned to the bar. Someone was sweeping up the broken glass, and a police officer had come in and hauled the man off of the floor and out of the bar. The bartender swooped past, leaving a burger and fries on Frohike’s side of the table. 

“Want some?” Frohike asked, taking a huge bite of his burger and gesturing at his plate. 

“Nah,” Scully said, waving him away. “‘M not hungry.” He shrugged.

“More for me, then.” He took another bite, and Scully stole a fry that was hanging off of the edge of his plate. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she finished chewing in time to explain before he asked her. 

“That one was taunting me,” she said, reaching as she spoke for another fry. He watched her, bemused, as she steadily ate her way through his fries, and when he set down the last few bites of his burger to order another beer, she ate that, too. 

“Maybe you’ll sober up, now, with all that food in your stomach.” Melvin said, and Scully frowned. 

“Doesn’t work like that.” she pouted. “I should know. Imma doctor.” Frohike looked around the bar at the assembled patrons, and shook his head.

“Sure, Scully. At least you gave me an excuse to get in a good fight. I’ve been wanting to get out and about more often.”

“I can do that. I can be a good excuse.” Scully said, winking at someone over Frohike’s shoulder. The man she was winking at walked over to the table, leaned down towards Scully.

“You interested in a good time, lady?” he growled softly, ignoring Frohike entirely. 

“He has a problem with that!” Scully said, pointing at Frohike. “So now he’s going to fight you!” The man turned and looked at Frohike, his face in his palms, at the end of the table. 

“Scully, we’re going home. Sorry to bother you, sir, but she’s not herself right now.” 

“Fair enough,” the man said, and wandered back away. 

“Whyyyyy?” Scully asked. “I thought you wanted to fight?” 

“Fight, sure, but not die. That guy was a.) two feet taller than me and b.) a mercenary who works for the DC police. C’mon, Scully, I’m taking you home.” He paused, looking at Scully’s relaxed posture and giant grin. “Maybe we oughta grab some coffee-”

“Oh no no no. This is not a fucking date, moron. We don’ get a second one.” She slurred, and Frohike laughed. 

“That was an option? You  _ must _ be drunk. I wanted you to get a coffee on the way home so you sober up a bit.” 

“Oh. That’s fair.” she acknowledged. He stood, paid the bill, and collected a fairly liquid Scully by draping her arm around his shoulders. They stumbled out into the night, and Frohike started laughing softly. 

“What?” Scully asked, patting him on the back and then looking with confusion at his leather coat. 

“Just… I did this for Mulder a bunch of times, staying the mostly sober one and getting in bar fights and all. Never would have thought I’d be doing it for you.” 

“Hey, at least I bought you dinner.” Scully protested. 

“You ate it.” Frohike pointed out. 

“Well… yeah. But it’s the thought that counts.” she took a few steps in silence. “I miss him.” 

“Me too.” Frohike said. “But you know he’s not safe here. We keep an eye on him.” 

“Yeah,” They walked a few more steps, when a flash of lightning lit up the whole street. Scully jumped. A long, deep roll of thunder followed, and then the DC sky opened up, pouring rain like someone was dumping buckets out of the windows. Scully yelped, and Frohike moved quickly, yanking off his leather bomber jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. 

“This isn’t a gen-tle-man-ly move, is it?” Scully said, loud enough to be heard over the rain. “Because we’re not dating!” She smiled, and zipped the jacket up over her work suit. 

“It is not.” Melvin said, looking serious even with his hair slicked to his head with rainwater and in t-shirt Scully suspected was from the 60s. “Your clothes were just less waterproof than mine.” Scully glanced downwards, impressed at how dry her clothes had stayed. 

“Yeah, you saved this suit.” she acknowledged. They stood there for a second, Scully tugging at the sleeves of Frohike’s jacket and Frohike just looking up at the rainclouds and running a hand through his drenched hair. 

“I think there’s a coffee shop around the corner.” Frohike said, speaking quieter now that the initial downpour had abated slightly. Scully nodded, and they stumbled off into the coffee shop. Inside, it was warm and dry, and Scully bought a cup of hot black coffee, which she took one sip of and considered pouring it on the ground. Frohike ordered tea, and she was so surprised she dropped her wallet. 

“What?” he said, grinning. “I have depths.” They sat, sipping at their drinks, and waited for the storm to calm down. Eventually, they headed out in a light drizzle, and Frohike walked a mildly sobered Scully to her apartment. They got to the door, and he turned to leave.

“See ya, Scully. Don’t be a stranger.” 

“Frohike? Don’t - don’t leave, please.” Frohike gave her a look. 

“Scully, you are not yourself and I am not a stand-in for Mulder.” he said, shaking his head. She laughed, and aimed another slap at the back of his head. 

“Then sleep on the couch. I just don’t want someone to try and kill me in my sleep again.” He smiled, and stepped into the apartment through the open door. Scully vanished, reappearing a bit unsteady but holding a towel and a change of clothes. 

“Sweatpants and one of Mulder’s shirts.” Frohike said, shaking his head and heading to the apartment’s bathroom. “I’ve reached the height of fashion.” 

Scully vanished into her own room, reappearing in soft pajamas and with a towel wrapped around her hair. She threw some sheets and a blanket at Frohike, who was sitting on the couch, and he carefully made the couch up as a bed. Scully was asleep before he was finished, sprawled across her bed with the door open. Frohike smiled, ducked his head, and laid down on the couch. 

~ ~ ~

It had been so long. Mulder walked the familiar steps with an eerie sense of deja vu, fighting the urge to turn tail and run, to appear back on the Lone Gunmen’s scanners, to admit his mistake. The door to Scully’s apartment was in front of him, and he raised one hand. He hesitated, and knocked. There was the faint sound of movement, and then the door slammed open to the end of the chain lock. With a moment of absolute consternation, Mulder tried to reconcile the fact that Frohike, in sweats and sporting a several dark bruises on his face, was staring at him through a crack in the doorway of Scully’s apartment. He failed. 

“Mulder?” Frohike said, softly. “What-” His eyes widened, and he pulled back slightly from the doorway. “Show me your neck.” Mulder, used to the Lone Gunmen’s strategy of identification, pulled his coat and shirt collars down, to reveal his own non-alien neck, and pricking his hand to show Frohike his red blood. The door closed and unlocked, and Frohike shouted something, before opening the door and wrapping Mulder in a rib-crushingly tight hug.

“Is that my shirt?” Mulder asked, as soon as Frohike released him, and Frohike shot him a grin. Then, he looked over his shoulder and vanished back into the apartment. Scully appeared in the doorway, in pajamas that Mulder had bought her and with her hair almost standing on end. He smiled. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, he decided, and then she kissed him, and the rest of it didn’t matter at all. 

A long time later, Frohike cleared his throat. Scully broke away from her interrogation of Mulder about why he was here and what was wrong, and looked over. Frohike had at some point gotten dressed in his own jeans, shirt, and jacket, and was lacing his boots. 

“Skinner’s expecting someone to pick up William before noon.” he pointed out. He waved a hand at Mulder. “He can’t exactly walk into the apartment of the AD of the FBI, and I suspect you’re not going to leave him here alone, so I figured I’d go and pick him up.”

“Okay, I have to know. Why was Frohike sleeping on your couch?” Mulder said, pointing at the sheets folded on the couch. “Did you two have a fight?” He smirked. 

“No, Scully went out and got wasted and ran into me, I got into a bar fight and almost killed some asshole who tried to drug her, and then we got caught in the rain, so I figured it’d be easier to just stay here than try to catch a cab at two in the morning.” Mulder gave him a long, confused stare. 

“Yeah, okay, my fault for asking, right?” Mulder said, after a second. 

“So, are we still going to grab that coffee?” Frohike called over his shoulder as he left, and Scully shot him a withering glare. He waved jauntily, and she shut the door behind him. She waited thirty seconds after he left to start laughing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for attempted sexual assault, attempted drugging, bar fights, and general assholeness.


End file.
